One Shall Live, But Only One
by hp1piececraziness
Summary: After Voldemort took control, the Hunger Games was born. It began as a way to purge the weak, but later served as punishment for a failed rebellion led by a group called the Order. Draco and Hermione become tributes. They form an unlikely alliance toghether. The prologue has a full summary of how the Games began since how it started is slightly different in this story. Dramione.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Hunger Games. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate. **

**Author's Note: This is something that I was thinking about for a long time, and I decided to make it into a fan fiction. This is my first crossover fan fiction. I usually do non-crossover fan fictions for Harry Potter. **

**PLEASE READ THIS: In this story there are quite a few flashbacks. The flashbacks are written in present tense and are usually in italics.**

**Anyway, you're probably bored with this Author's Note. I hope you enjoy this story. If you have any comments, please review, but no flames! **

Prologue

After the Dark Lord took control of the British Ministry, the Hunger Games was born. It started out as a way for the Dark Lord to eliminate the weak, so that he would have better chances of finding stronger, more skilled witches and wizards to be his Death Eaters.

Every year, sixteen tributes were randomly chosen in the Reaping. These tributes would be students attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The youngest eligible students were twelve and in their second year at Hogwarts; the oldest would be the seventh year students. Four tributes were chosen from each house, two girls and two boys.

The tributes would be brought to the Ministry. Over a one week period, they would be introduced to the public and interviewed. Over this short period, they would be able to enjoy certain luxuries (few could really enjoy them). Then, the tributes would be brought to the arena. There, they would fight each other, and attempt to survive the arena's perils and harsh conditions. Fifteen of the tributes would die, one would live.

The victor would be greatly rewarded. Most victors lived lives of luxury after their Games were over. They would train the tributes from their house in the Games that came after theirs. Most of the victors joined the Death Eaters when they became old enough.

Some even got the opportunity to be Gamemakers, meaning that during the Games after theirs, they would control the conditions of the arena. This was a great honor that was only given to the Dark Lord's best Death Eaters.

The events of the Hunger Games could be viewed by anyone in the Wizarding World, via a magical device, which was similar in a few ways to the Muggle television, but much more complex and efficient.

At one time a group called the Order of the Phoenix had rebelled against the Dark Lord and the Ministry. Around the same time, a prophecy that told of a boy born at the end of July, who had the power to defeat the Dark Lord.

There were two boys that the prophecy could possibly have referred to; the first, Harry Potter, had been killed by the Dark Lord along with his father. The only surviving member of the Potter family was Harry's mother, Lily Potter, who had not been able to reach her son in time to protect him. The other boy, Neville Longbottom was killed in the 47th Hunger Games.

The rebellion failed, many members of the Order were sentenced to death, and now the games served as punishment for the rebellion, as well as a way to purge the weak. Most of the remaining members of the Order believed that in the future, someone would be able to defeat the Dark Lord, but they only briefly mentioned it amongst themselves on rare occasions.

As the Dark Lord and his forces conquered the magical communities in other countries, the students of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute also had to take part in the Hunger Games. This decreased the number of tributes that Hogwarts had to send. Every year, each school would send eight tributes, four boys and four girls, to the Games. This made a total of twenty four tributes, twenty three of which were doomed to die.


	2. Chapter 1 Purity

Chapter 1 – Purity

Fear had thoroughly consumed Draco Malfoy in the past few weeks. It was bad enough that Reaping Day was slowly approaching, but now he knew that his chances of being picked for the Hunger Games were even greater than they had ever been before.

If it had been up to his mother, his name would have only been entered the required three times instead of thirteen. His aunt had forced him to enter his name the extra ten times. He remembered her saying when he was twelve that any child of a respectable pure-blood family should be in the Hunger Games.

At that time, both of his parents had been adamantly against him entering his name more than the required number of times. He remembered them arguing with his Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus. He remembered hearing their shouts and his mother's distressed cries late at night from his bedroom. His parents had won that year, and he his name hadn't been picked.

Draco was fourteen now and his aunt had persuaded his father to force him to enter his name in thirteen times to increase his chances. His father now agreed that someone from a reputable family with a superior blood status should at least try to be in the Hunger Games. For once, Draco almost wished that he wasn't pure-blood.

His aunt hadn't been satisfied with his name only being entered ten extra times. She said that it was like he was a filthy Mudblood, but his mother had said that an extra ten times was quite nough.

Some pure-blood families even made their children to volunteer if they weren't chosen. Draco would _never_ volunteer even if his family tried to force him to. He didn't care if he was disowned. Anyone would be a better tribute than him.

He couldn't kill. He had always been unable to kill when his aunt tried to train him. It frustrated her very much, but he had never been able to kill. Saying that the Hunger Games was an event where tributes fought to the death, he doubted that he would last a day if he was chosen as the male Slytherin tribute.

As long as he had lived, the Hunger Games had been an annual event. His father had been a victor in the Hunger Games years ago. His father had even been a Gamemaker for a few years.

That was the unusual thing about Draco. His father had played a huge role in the Hunger Games, and so had his aunt and uncles, (they were famous victors and from what he knew, they were still working as Gamemakers) but he wanted nothing to do with the Games. The Games were horrific and completely barbaric. He never dared to say that out loud, but he had always thought it.

Now, Draco sat on the edge of his bed. His trunk was packed and sitting in the corner of his bedroom. He would leave for Hogwarts the next day. That meant that there was one day until the Reaping and one day until he would discover whether he would have another normal year of learning at Hogwarts, or whether he would be sent to the Ministry and the feared arena.

Draco had never in his life dreaded anything more than he dreaded the Reaping at that moment.


	3. Chapter 2 Secrets

Chapter 2 – Secrets

Hermione Granger was busy packing for her fourth year at Hogwarts. At least, she hoped that she'd be leaving King's Cross Station the next day for another year at Hogwarts. There was, of course, the possibility that she would be doing something very different from learning new spells and expanding her knowledge of magic.

She didn't want to think about the Hunger Games, but the Games had been the main thing on her mind for the past month.

She had entered her name thirteen times; that was ten more times than the standard three. Usually, fourteen-year-old students entered their names in the Reaping three times, but she was a "Mudblood." She despised that word. She hated how people spat it at her; she hated how they whispered it and pointed at her.

No one called her Muggle-born except for her friends at Hogwarts. Muggle-borns were required to enter their name at least ten more times than what was required. Hermione found this odd since it was considered a great honor to win the Games and therefore students from pureblood families usually entered their names many times.

She supposed that the Dark Lord and the Ministry didn't expect Muggle-borns to win. So far, there had only been one Muggle-born victor. Her name was Lily Potter. The Ministry had not been at all pleased when Lily had won nineteen years ago, but they had had to crown Lily victor. Hermione looked up to her.

There was another thing about being a Muggle-born who was a possible tribute. If she was entered, and she died, her parents and family would never know how she'd died. The Ministry would not bother to tell them that their daughter was dead. Usually, a sympathetic mentor would bring the news to the parents of a dead Muggle-born tribute and make up some story concerning how their child had died.

Muggles were not allowed to know about the Hunger Games. It was strictly forbidden to even briefly mention the Games to a Muggle. It had been that way ever since the Dark Lord first took control. During the summer, the Games were her secret. Her parents knew about magic, but as far as they were concerned, magic meant making a vase levitate or transforming buttons into beetles.

On multiple occasions, her parents and Muggle friends had asked her what was troubling her. It had been obvious throughout the summer that she was worried about something. She made many different excuses. She told them that she was feeling slightly ill and felt like going to bed or that she was awaiting a letter from her friend Ron Weasley and she thought that he had bad news.

Despite the fact that the odds of her being picked in the Reaping had always been slightly higher than the average student, she had gone two years without being picked. However, with every year, the odds of her being chosen as the Gryffindor female tribute were growing. She _hoped_ that she would be lucky enough to last another four years without getting picked, but she doubted that she could be that fortunate.

**Author's Note: The next chapter will be the Reaping.**


	4. Chapter 3 The Hogwarts Tributes

**Author's Note: Here's the Reaping. This isn't my best chapter ever, but the ones after this will be better. This chapter is Draco's side of the story again.**

Chapter 3 – The Hogwarts Tributes

During the ride to Hogwarts, Draco only engaged in a few conversations with the other students in his compartment. They were pureblood too and they were the same age as him, but they hadn't been forced to enter their names thirteen times in the Reaping. They also didn't take the Games very seriously. He didn't understand how few of his friends were able to see the Hunger Games as what they really were.

When the Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade Station, the students were separated into groups based on their age, gender and house by a group of Death Eaters who were always there during the Reaping to make sure that things went smoothly. Draco joined the other fourth year Slytherins and walked silently up to Hogwarts.

There were four long tables in the Great Hall. Each was set with plates and utensils. At the front of the hall were a platform and a long table. Seated at the long table were the Hogwarts professors and mentors for the Games.

Draco was used to the annual routine by now. The sorting of the first years would be first. The first years were no longer part of the Reaping. That way, they would have one year of magical training before their names were entered.

The Games were considered more interesting that way. During the first few Hunger Games, some first years had been tributes and none of them could cast a single spell.

The feast would then come second, and the Reaping would be saved for the end.

Draco sat down at the end of the Slytherin table next to his friends, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise and Pansy. The Sorting began immediately. Draco paid little attention to it. During the feast, he barely ate anything, despite the fact that a huge variety of mouthwatering food had just appeared in front of him. He had lost his appetite thinking about the Reaping. He didn't know how Crabbe and Goyle could eat so much when the Reaping was only minutes away.

"It's not going to do you any good to starve yourself, Malfoy," said Goyle.

Draco only murmured something that sounded like, "I'm not hungry."

After the students had finished eating, the food disappeared. The Headmistress of Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge stepped up to the podium at the front of the Great Hall. The old Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, had been sentenced to death, but he had fled. No one knew exactly where he was or what he was doing.

Umbridge was, as usual, dressed in a pink dress, with a rose-pink colored bow in her neat, short hair. She wore a little jeweled pin in the shape of a Persian cat. Two short Death Eaters stood on either side of her, a man and a woman. The man was named Amycus Carrow and the woman was Alecto Carrow, Amycus's sister. They were both former victors.

"It is a great honor to welcome all of you to Hogwarts," crooned Umbridge in a saccharine sweet voice that made Draco feel sick. "Now, before we begin another wonderful year, it is time to pick our tributes for this year's Hunger Games."

She smiled widely, as if she expected all of the students to be excited. No one smiled back.

"We'll start with Ravenclaw," said Umbridge, strolling over to the gigantic, deep glass bowls behind her. Each was full of little folded slips of paper.

"Ladies go first, of course," said Umbridge, carefully selecting one slip of paper from the bowl that was the farthest to the left.

She cleared her throat and called out, "Marietta Edgecombe."

All eyes turned to the Ravenclaw table where a girl with red-blonde hair and scared chestnut-brown eyes got up and walked to the front of the Hall. Her friend, Cho Chang who had been seated next to her was crying.

"What year are you in, dear," asked Umbridge as Marietta came forward.

"Fifth," replied Marietta in a voice that was barely audible.

"Delightful," said Umbridge. "We've had some fifth year victors recently, now, on to the Ravenclaw boys!"

A boy names Terry Boot who was in his fourth year was chosen as the male tribute. Umbridge introduced a former victor named Penelope Clearwater as the Ravenclaw tributes' mentor and another Ravenclaw former victor who would assist Penelope in mentoring.

The Reaping continued. A fourth year named Susan Bones became the Hufflepuff female tribute, and a seventh year named Cedric Diggory was chosen as the Hufflepuff male tribute. Their mentor was Nymphadora Tonks. Tonks had no assistant.

Gryffindor came next. The female tribute was Hermione Granger. Draco knew her. She was in his year at Hogwarts and she was a Mudblood. They did not get along very well, and didn't talk to each other very often. Hermione silently walked up to Umbrige and introduced herself. Unlike the other tributes, who looked frightened or uneasy, Hermione looked determined and brave.

The male tribute from Gryffindor was a frightened looking second year named Nigel Wolpert. It was clear that Nigel wastrying hard to hold back tears when he stepped up onto the platform. The Gryffindor mentor was Sirius Black and his assistant was Lily Potter, the only Muggle-born victor in the history of the Games.

Now it was time for the Slytherin tributes to be selected. Draco had grown more and more anxious as the names had been called. He was even paler than usual now.

A girl named Tracey Davis that Draco barely knew was picked as the female tribute. All he did know about her was that she was a year older than him, she was an aloof Slytherin who wanted to be in the Hunger Games and she was pureblood. She sauntered up to Umbridge and proudly introduced herself.

"And last but not least," said Umbridge, reaching into the glass bowl that was farthest to the right. She took out a slip of paper and paused before reading the name aloud. Draco held his breath.

"Draco Malfoy," said Umbridge.

Everyone at the Slytherin table turned to look at Draco. Pansy had now turned pale too. Tears were running down her face.

Draco didn't have a choice. He slowly got up and walked to the platform. He shook hands with Umbridge who asked, "What year are you in?"

"Fourth," replied Draco.

"Goodness," said Umbridge smiling. "We have quite a few fourth year tributes this year! Now, the mentor for the Slytherin tributes is Mr. Bartemius Crouch Jr."

A skinny, haggard man with straw-blonde hair stepped forward. He was wearing long black robes.

"I prefer being called just 'Barty', Dolores," he said.

Umbridge frowned slightly before saying, "Helping, erm… Barty to mentor the Slytherin tributes will be our Muggle Studies teacher Alecto Carrow, but don't worry; Muggle Studies shall be taught by some very qualified Ministry officials who, unfortunately, could not make it to the Reaping.

"The Hogwarts tributes will leave for the Ministry tonight. Anyone who wishes to have a word with a particular tribute before they leave for the Ministry only needs to see me in my office and I can arrange for them to have a few minutes to chat with their tribute. We have many promising tributes this year and I wish them all the best of luck!"


	5. Chapter 4 Rememberances of Reaping Day

**Author's Note: This chapter is mostly a flash-back of Barty Crouch Junior. The next chapter will have a lot of Hermione.**

Chapter 4 – Remembrances of Reaping Day

The students filed out of the hall. Most looked relieved that they hadn't been picked. A few whose friends had been chosen still looked very upset. It was all very familiar to Barty Crouch Jr., who had been a mentor for a few unsuccessful years and was a well-known former victor.

As he watched the crowd of students leave the Great Hall, he felt as though he was back at his own Reaping, that he remembered so vividly. He clearly remembered all of the events of his days as a tribute, and it had all started with the Reaping.

_He's sitting in the Great Hall. On his right side is his friend Regulus Black, whom he just met a year ago, when Regulus was a first year who didn't have to worry about the Reaping. Next to him is Evan Rosier, who's in his third year just like Barty. _

_Barty's also surrounded by his other Slytherin companions. Across from Barty is Bellatrix Lestrange, a seventh-year former victor who has taught him many curses, charms and hexes during his last two years at Hogwarts. One the Bellatrix's right side is Mulciber, who's two years older than Barty, and next to Mulciber is Avery. On Bellatrix's other side are Alecto and Amycus Carrow._

_All of them have been anxious about the Games for weeks, except for Bellatrix who doesn't have to worry about the games any more. Regulus is especially nervous, and has been fretting about the Games ever since the previous year. Barty keeps telling him that his name was only in the Reaping once, so it was highly unlikely that he'll be picked, but Regulus hadn't completely calmed down. Barty can't blame him._

_Barty watches as the Ministry official steps up to the platform and begins picking the names. A second-year girl is picked at Ravenclaw. Her first-year brother is hysterical. He starts wailing and has to be calmed down by a group of other Ravenclaws. The male Ravenclaw tribute and the female Hufflepuff tribute are fifth-years. The male Hufflepuff tribute is a fourth-year, and both Gryffindor tributes are sixth-years._

_Everyone at the Slytherin table watches as the Ministry official gracefully selects the name of the Slytherin female tribute. A seventh-year girl is picked. After she is introduced, the Ministry official selects a folded slip of paper containing the name of the Slytherin male tribute. Regulus looks more scared than ever and Barty whispers a few reassuring words to him._

_They are both shocked when the Ministry official calls out, "Regulus Black."_

_For a moment Regulus doesn't move. Then, he stiffly gets up and walks to the front of the Great Hall. Barty can't stand the fact that his close friend is going to die. He knows that if Regulus is a tribute in the Games, he will die. There is no doubting that. _

_Barty glances at his other close friend, Mulciber. Mulciber knows what Barty is thinking of doing. He shakes his head and mouths "Don't", but no one can stop Barty. Before Regulus steps onto the platform, Barty raises his hand high in the air and shouts, "I volunteer as the Slytherin male tribute!"_

_Everyone in the hall turns to look at him. It's unusual for a third-year to volunteer. The Ministry official tells Barty to come forward and introduce himself, which he does. Regulus stares at him in disbelief before slowly making his way back to the Slytherin table._

_The Reaping is concluded, Barty is introduced to his mentor, who just so happens to be Avery's father, and everyone leaves the Great Hall._

_Before he goes to the Ministry, where he is sure that he shall die, Barty gets a few visitors. His parents have been alerted that he will be competing in the Games and have apparated to Hogwarts, along with their house-elf, Winky._

_His mother bursts into the room where he has been waiting, tears streaming down her face, and embraces him, muttering comforting words to him. Winky is crying on the ground._

"_Young Master Barty is a clever boy," she sobs. "He can win! Winky knows he can win!"_

"_Winky is right, Barty," says his mother. "You're an intelligent and resourceful person. I'm sure that you can win."_

_His father says a few brief, slightly reassuring words._

_A Death Eater enters and says that time is up. _

_Barty's mother hugs him one last time and says, "I love you and I am confident that you can win." _

_Winky wraps her arms around his leg and says, "Young Master will do well. Young Master must stay safe."_

_His father says, "Good-bye, Barty. Perhaps I shall see you at the Ministry." _

_His father says no "I love you" or anything remotely close to that. Then, Barty's family leaves._

_Barty's next visitors are his friends who were seated around him in the Great Hall. Regulus thanks him many times and says that Barty shouldn't have volunteered for him. Barty says that he had to. Bellatrix tells him to remember what she taught him. _

_They all say encouraging things. For a minute, Barty and his friends are actually smiling and laughing a little, but then the same Death Eater comes in and tells Barty's friends to leave. Then, he is left alone, knowing that the odds are that he shall die over the next couple of weeks and will never have a moment like that with his friends again._

That was not the horrific part of Barty Crouch's Hunger Games; it got _much _worse after that. He hated having to watch everything happen all over again, but every year, he had to.

For all of the years that he had been a mentor, his tributes had both died. He tried to leave the mentoring to Bellatrix, who loved being part of the Games, but this year, he had had to be a mentor, and in a few weeks, he would watch at least one of his tributes be killed.


	6. Chapter 5 Visitors

**Author's Note: This is a little talk between Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna before Hermione goes to the Ministry. Feel free to review, but no flames. **

**I will be starting school in about a week. Once school starts, I will not be able to update as often; however I will continue to update all of my stories.**

Chapter 5 - Visitors

Hermione stared blankly at the wall which was covered in pink wallpaper and had many pictures of kittens hanging on it. She was in one of the rooms in the back of the Headmistress's office. The only pieces of furniture in the room were two chairs, and a desk. On the desk was a stack of parchment, a little decorative porcelain cat, a blood quill, and a magenta pamphlet titled "_Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pureblood Society_."

There were no windows in the room. To Hermione, it felt like a jail. She sat down in one of the two chairs and wondered why none of her friends had come to say good-bye. Where were Ron, Ginny and Luna? She couldn't bring herself to think that they didn't care enough to see her one last time before she went to the arena.

Hermione heard weeping coming from the room next to hers. She could hear Cho Chang and a couple of other girls. She assumed that Marietta Edgecombe was in the room next-door.

She thought of the other tributes. The other Gryffindor tribute was so young. It upset her to imagine him in the arena. Then, there was the Slytherin tribute, Draco Malfoy. It had been odd to see a Slytherin pureblood so unwilling to be chosen as tribute.

At last, the door opened and Ron Weasley came in. He was followed by Luna Lovegood and his younger sister Ginny.

"I was afraid that you weren't coming," said Hermione.

"As soon as we got the chance to," said Ron. "We went to that toad, Umbridge, and asked to see you…"

"Don't say that," whispered Hermione. "The Ministry could be listening to us right now."

There was a brief pause before the door opened again. A stocky Death Eater poked his head into the room and said, "Ten minutes until all tributes leave for the Ministry. You have one more minute to talk." He slammed the door shut behind him.

"They let all of the other tributes have five minutes with their visitors," hissed Ginny.

"We only have a minute, so we'll get to the point," said Ron. "Hermione, I don't think that there's a single spell that you can't do. You have the highest grades in class. You are going to be the next Muggle-born victor."

"Winning the Games is slightly more difficult than getting good grades, Ron," said Hermione.

"Well, you can perform a number of spells perfectly," said Ron. "And I've seen you duel people before…"

"Ron," said Hermione. "The last time I dueled someone, we were shooting hexes at each other. In the Games, everyone is trying to _kill_ each other."

"What Ron is trying to say is that you're brilliant," said Ginny. "I'm sure that you can win. You just have to know your opponents really well, try to adapt to the arena and…"

"Look out for Heliopaths," added Luna.

"Look out for what?" asked Ron. Hermione was used to Luna's idiosyncrasies after knowing her for three years.

"Heliopaths are fire spirits," said Luna. "They're sort of like horses. They gallop around and set their surroundings ablaze. They really can be quite dangerous, but I'm sure you'll do well in the Games, Hermione."

There had been another important thing on Hermione's mind.

"Ron," she said suddenly. "You're family knows where my family lives, right?"

"Yes," replied Ron.

"I need to ask a favor," she said. "If you could possibly drop by their house at Christmas and check that nothing horrible has happened…"

"Of course," said Ron. "I'll send a letter about it to Bill and…"

The door opened again and the burly Death Eater said, "Time's up!"

Hermione embraced her friends one last time before they were ushered out of the room.

"Stay safe and..." started Ron, but the Death Eater slammed the door in his face before he could finish his sentence.

Without thinking, Hermione rushed to the door and tried to open it, only to find that it was locked. The room that she was in felt even more like a prison cell than it had before. She sighed and sat there, in silence for a few minutes.

Then, she heard Umbridge's sickeningly sweet voice say, "It is now time for all of our tributes to head to Hogsmeade Station, where they shall find a train waiting to take them to the Minsitry in London. A Ministry official has been sent to each tribute to escort them onto the train. I am sure that they will have a smooth and enjoyable ride to the Ministry, and once again, good luck to all of them!"

The door opened a fourth time and a sour-faced Ministry official stepped into the room. He said nothing, but he beckoned to Hermione. She got up and followed him down the halls of Hogwarts. She looked around, taking in every portrait and staircase, wondering whether these would be her last moments at Hogwarts.


	7. Chapter 6 The Slytherin Mentor

Chapter 6 – The Slytherin Mentor

Draco walked alongside a loquacious Ministry official. He wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying. He was still thinking about the short meeting that he had just had with his parents and his aunt. They had all told him how proud they were, but he could tell that his mother did not want him to be in the Games at all. Towards the end of their meeting, she had started sobbing.

His friends had also come to visit, but their visit had not been very memorable. Draco had spent most of those five minutes trying to get Crabbe and Goyle to take the Games seriously. Pansy had been very upset that Draco was the male Slytherin tribute. He had spent the rest of the five minutes comforting her.

Draco and the Ministry official finally came to Hogsmeade Station. The Hogwarts Express was gone and there was another train at the station instead. It was black and had several compartments, each with an ornamental letter M on it.

"The Slytherin compartment is at the very end of the train," said the Ministry official chirpily. "You'll be able to have some time to get to know your mentor. I'd recommend getting some rest also. You have a full week ahead of you!"

Draco didn't respond. He boarded the train, expecting to see something similar to inside of the Hogwarts Express. Instead, to his surprise, he found himself walking past a number of commodious rooms, instead of small compartments. The Ministry official walked swiftly behind him.

"It's amazing isn't it," she said.

Draco nodded. Draco was used to the wonders that could be done with magic, but he was still impressed with how spacious the inside of the slender train was. They reached the last room, which had a little silver serpent on the door. The Ministry official knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" came the tired voice of a man.

"This is Mafalda Hopkirk with Draco Malfoy," said the Ministry official.

The door opened and Barty Crouch Jr. stood there. Up close, he looked even more gaunt and exhausted. His face was lined, his hair was untidy and his robes were too long for him.

"Draco, come inside," he said. "Mafalda, you can go back to where the rest of the Ministry officials are; I prefer to talk to my tributes in privacy."

"Yes, I'll leave you to have your little talk," said Mafalda Hopkirk as Draco stepped inside.

"Thank you," said Crouch before shutting the door in her face.

Tracey Davis was already lounging in an armchair in the corner of the room. Draco sat down in an armchair next to her. He saw that he was standing in a small living room. There were four other small rooms behind it. Crouch sat down in the sofa in front of them.

"Now that all of the Slytherin human-sacrifices are here," said Crouch. "Let's have a little talk. In case you didn't hear at the Reaping, I'm Barty. That's what I want to be called. That means no, Mr. Crouch or Bartemius or anything so formal.

"I'm going to be your trainer. Alecto will be helping me, and so will a couple of the other former victors. Alecto has already apparated to the Ministry. The assistants are always lucky. They can just go straight to the Ministry, whereas mentors have to sit through the long train ride and endure the company of their tributes."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Anyway," he said. "We're supposed to get to know each other, and I'm supposed to tell you about the Games. So let's get the introductions over with first. Tracey, tell us a bit about you."

"I'm pureblood," said Tracey. "I have a few relatives who were victors. I've always dreamed of being a victor ever since my family told me about the Games. I've been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Professor Carrow thinks that I'm skilled with certain curses. Maybe I can use them during the Games. I'm still planning out what my strategy will be and I…"

"You're arrogant," said Crouch. "Got it. Draco, let me hear a bit about you."

Tracey looked taken aback. It appeared that she had had a whole speech prepared.

"I'm also pureblood," said Draco. "My father's a Death Eater. So are my aunt and uncles."

Crouch looked at Draco as though he was expecting to hear more.

"And," Draco said hesitantly. "They wanted me to be in the Hunger Games."

"'They wanted me to be in the Hunger Games?'" repeated Crouch, raising an eyebrow. "I don't hear that very often. Do you want to be in the Games?"

"I'm not sure," said Draco.

"Lies," said Crouch. "I don't like lies, but we don't have time for me to rant about them. Here are some facts about me: I won the 25th Hunger Games, my family passed away years ago with the exception of the family house-elf, Winky, and most of my friends are either dead, insane or addicted to alcohol. Any questions?"

There was a brief pause before Crouch continued.

"Now I'm supposed to tell you about what's on the agenda for this week," he said.

He picked up a piece of paper and started to read in a bored, emotionless voice, "We'll arrive at the Ministry in about eight hours. All of the tributes will be shown to their quarters at the Ministry, where they will stay until it is time for twenty three of them to die horrific deaths because they spent a week not listening to their mentors at all."

He looked up from the sheet of paper.

"Can you please read straight from the paper?" asked Tracey.

"No, I don't like to sugarcoat things," said Crouch plainly before continuing to "read" from the paper. "Afterwards, for the next five days, they shall train at the training center and their mentors will have an opportunity to give them advice that will not be followed. Then, each tribute will show their skills, if they have any, which is highly unlikely, to the Gamemakers in a private room. The Gamemakers will evaluate their performance and rate their skills on a scale of 1 – 12. The day before the Games, all of the tributes will be interviewed and then…"

He put the paper down on the table in front of them and said, "Oh look! There's a huge blood-bath the next day. Why don't you two go, and I watch? Oh wait, it's mandatory so I guess you're going. Meanwhile, I'll have to sit there and watch my tributes be slaughtered in the first two days. Sounds like a good plan, doesn't it?"

He sighed again and got up to leave.

"Well, we should all get some sleep shouldn't we?" he said. "Draco, your bedroom is on the far right. Tracey, yours is right next to Draco's. Good-night and sweet dreams… for now. Believe me, you won't be having any sweet dreams during the Games… that is if you last till nighttime in the arena, which I doubt you will."


	8. Chapter 7 Some Quick Advice

**Author's Note: This chapter is still following Draco. The next one might be following Hermione, or it may end up being another one of Crouch's flashbacks. If chapter 8 ends up being one of Crouch's flashbacks, chapter 9 will follow Hermione's side of the story.**

**Another thing about this story: There are Avoxes. I am aware that in the Hunger Games, none of them can talk, but in this fan fiction, **_**a few**_** of them can (most of them can't).**

**If you have any comments about this chapter, please leave a review. I'd love to hear your comments on it, but ****no flames****!**

Chapter 7 – Some Quick Advice

Sunlight was creeping in through the windows of the train. Draco awoke to see that the train was nearly at London. He would be at the Ministry soon.

He got dressed and headed out to the "compartment" where Crouch and Tracey had been the previous night. Tracey was eating her breakfast and Crouch was slouching on one of the armchairs. Mafalda Hopkirk was there also, looking very excited. Crouch looked up and saw Draco.

"Did you dream about the upcoming bloodbath, Draco?" he asked.

Mafalda sighed, and Crouch frowned at her.

"Mafalda here insists on being here this morning," he said. "Because apparently, she is assigned to assist the Slytherin tributes around the Ministry, before they're slaughtered."

"Don't worry the poor boy, Bartemius," said Mafalda disapprovingly. "You're ruining the experience for him!"

"I don't think that he'd exactly relish being killed even if I kept my mouth shut," said Crouch. "But if you want me to, I can try to add some optimism to the situation."

He cleared his throat and said in a sardonically happy tone of voice, "Good morning, Draco! I'm sure that you will have an excellent time at the Minsitry, even if it's just for a week and at the end of the week you're going to die, but never mind that!"

Tracey and Mafalda bother groaned, but Mafalda quickly wiped away her frown and said to Draco, "You must be hungry, dear. You can help yourself to the food on the table over there. Take as much as you want!"

Draco turned to see a table covered with a variety of scrumptious breakfast foods. Next to the table were two people, a young man and a young woman. They both stood there, stiffly and silently. He was sure that they couldn't be older than seventeen. They looked like they should be at Hogwarts. What were they doing on the train to the Ministry?

Draco went over to them and asked, "Who are you?"

Neither of the two people replied. They just stood there and stared at him. One of them handed him a plate and utensils. Draco turned to Crouch and Mafalda.

"Who are…" he started.

"Avoxes," said Crouch grimly. "They don't… well most of them can't speak, so don't bother taking to them."

"Avoxes?" repeated Draco, glancing at the young woman and young man.

"You've never heard of them, have you?" asked Crouch.

Draco shook his head.

"Well, there are three types of Avoxes," said Crouch. "They all do the same thing, which is serving the tributes, Gamemakers and mentors during the Games, but there are three different ways that someone can become an Avox. The first types of Avoxes are Hogwarts students who tried to escape Hogwarts, but were caught by the Ministry.

"The second types are former members of the Order who participated in the rebellion. Most members were killed years ago. Some weren't seriously punished, some were turned into Avoxes. The third types of Avoxes are tributes who were completely mentally incapacitated by another tribute during the Games by means of the Cruciatus Curse. Those can talk, but most of them don't really have a clue what's going on."

Draco briefly glanced at the Avoxes again in shock and put his empty plate down. The thought of Avoxes and the approaching Games had taken away his appetite.

"It's just another 'wonderful' aspect of this experience," said Crouch in the same mockingly cheerful voice.

"You're not having breakfast, Draco?" asked Mafalda, glaring at Crouch.

"I'm not hungry," said Draco.

"Get used to starving to death," said Crouch shrugging. "It's all you and Tracey are going to do in the Games."

"Bartemius!" exclaimed Mafalda.

"Don't call me that," said Crouch. "And I can say whatever I want."

"They're your tributes!" cried Mafalda. "Give them some words of encouragement or give them some advice."

"I'm not going to give them encouragement, because I don't want to deceive them," said Crouch. "But, I could give them some advice, not that they'll listen to me. Sit down, Draco, and we can all have a little talk."

Draco sat down next to Tracey.

"Here are a few quick tips so that you'll have a few extra days to live," said Crouch. "First of all, I'm sure you know what The Cornucopia is. You'll have to hand over your wands the day before the Games. Your wands will be in The Cornucopia along with various potions and _small_ amounts of supplies.

"There are many tempting things in The Cornucopia, but I'd advise just grabbing your wand, a _few _potions to heal wounds, and maybe a bottle of water if the other tributes aren't trying to kill you yet. After that, get the hell away from the Cornucopia unless you have a death wish. Whatever you do, don't linger at the Cornucopia. Only grab what's necessary."

"Why can't we stay and fight at The Cornucopia?" asked Tracey. "We're going to have to kill the other tributes at some point, aren't we? Why not just attack as many of them as we can when they're all in one big group."

Crouch shook his head and looked at her.

"During my Games," he said. "There were thirty two tributes. It was a Quarter Quell, so there were more tributes. The Games were purposely made to be shorter also. The Gamemakers made sure that thirty two of us died in a one week period of time. That meant more mutations and threats in the arena… anyway, do you have any idea how many of the tributes in my Games died because they stayed at the Cornucopia for too long?"

There was a brief pause before Crouch said, "Twelve. That left twenty of us. Speaking of tribute death statistics, here's what I've observed in my Games and the past few Hunger Games: Many die in combat at The Cornucopia and several are killed by other tributes later in the Games. The number of tributes who die of thirst or starvation varies depending on what the arena is like, but there are always a few. Not including the victor, obviously, the other tributes are killed by mutations or other animals. Have you heard about the mutations?"

"I heard that the Minsitry designed their own type dragon once," said Draco.

Crouch laughed a laugh devoid of amusement or delight.

"Yes, that thing was made to be especially blood-thirsty," said Crouch. "But that dragon is far from the worst that the Minsitry has ever created. The mutations are usually made to fit the arena. For example, if the arena is mostly water, there will be many water-demons and aquatic mutations."

Crouch peered out of the window. Draco did also. They were in London now.

"Oh, we're finally at the Ministry!" exclaimed Mafalda. "Tracey, Draco, pack up your belongings, and I'll escort you to the entrance of the Ministry and lead you to your quarters!"

"And mentors are allowed to leave their tributes now," said Crouch, getting up from the armchair. "I'll see you the next time I'm required to, which unfortunately, will be very soon."


	9. Chapter 8 Arriving at the Ministry

**Author's Note: This chapter is following Hermione. Sorry this one took me so long. It is not the best chapter ever in this story. The next ones will be better. I reached a major writer's block in the beginning of this one, just because I am not used to writing from the Gryffindor/Order of the Phoenix perspective. All of my other stories follow the Death Eaters, so this is something new for me.**

**And once again, feel free to review. Reviews (the ones that are compliments or respectful/ constructive criticism) help encourage me to write. I love reading those types of reviews, and if you've ever left one of them, thanks. **

**Anyway, I'll stop talking now. Enjoy!**

Chapter 8

The sour-faced man from the Ministry, whose name was John Dawlish, arrived at the Gryffindor compartments early in the morning and waited there until it was time to escort Hermione and Nigel Wolpert to the Ministry. Hermione's mentor, Sirius Black, had asked whether he could guide his tributes to their quarters; however Dawlish had told him that all mentors had to go to the Ministry before their tributes to meet with the Gamemakers.

Dawlish didn't talk to Hermione and Nigel unless he had to. In fact, the only time he talked to them was when he had to give them directions.

They left the train and strode down the streets of London, attracting the attention of many Muggles. That wasn't at all surprising. She and the other Hogwarts tributes were all wearing their school robes, and there were a number of Death Eaters lurking around. Of course, Death Eaters never made any effort to blend in. They were always dressed in long black robes and cloaks.

Hermione was sure that at least some of the Muggles must have noticed that at a certain time each year, there were about twenty three murders and disappearances reported. The mentors made excuses for the deaths, but surely a few Muggles must have noticed that it was always the same number of people dead from the same age group.

After a few minutes of swift and silent walking, Nigel looked up at Hermione and asked, "Have you ever been to the Ministry?"

Hermione shook her head and said, "No, I would never go there if I had a choice. I've seen pictures of some of the departments there, though. It's probably huge. It would have to be enormous in order for the arena to be there every year, along with the Control Center, tribute quarters and all of the departments."

At that moment, Dawlish came to an abrupt stop next to a telephone booth. He did nothing except point to the telephone booth and say, "Get inside."

Hermione and Nigel both did as they were told. Once Dawlish stepped in, the telephone booth felt very cramped. Hermione was pushed up against the windows of the booth. She couldn't see what Dawlish was doing, but after a few seconds, the floor underneath her began to sink rapidly.

As Hermione, Nigel and Dawlish continued to descend, the cloudy sky and bustling Muggles disappeared from view. For a while, Hermione could see nothing but darkness. When the telephone booth stopped it's descent, she found herself in a gigantic and very grand room, with a blue ceiling, a large black statue and rows of fireplaces connected to the Floo Network.

Wizards and witches were apparating and disapparating all around her. There was a large crowd of them gathered together to welcome the tributes. Others were hurrying off to their departments. Hermione stepped out into the crowd and was followed by Dawlish and Nigel, who looked slightly amazed and slightly scared at the same time.

"Where are we?" asked Hermione, turning to Dawlish.

"The Atrium at the Minsitry of Magic," replied Dawlish. "Follow me, now."

With that, he turned and walked briskly through the crowd of people. Hermione and Nigel followed, and the large group of witches and wizards started talking to one another excitedly. Some even began to cheer as more tributes passed them. Hermione had never been able to understand how some people supported the Games and the Dark Lord, as long as they were given their share of power.

Dawlish headed down a long corridor. At the end, was a small room. The walls were lined with Ministry elevators. One came down to their level, and they stepped in.

An Avox was waiting inside. The Avox was a boy about the same age as Hermione. He was much taller than her. He had short blonde hair, blue eyes and the same blank expression that all of the Avoxes had. She recognized him.

His name was Zacharias Smith. He had been a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts in her year, but there had been rumors that he had tried to escape. Hermione hadn't heard anything about him ever since his disappearance, but now she knew what had happened.

Zacharias pressed an elevator button, and the elevator started to rise. It stopped at level five and two more people came in. The first was Sirius Black. He looked much more aggravated than he had on the train. Hermione guessed that the Gamemakers had given him a hard time.

The second person was the Slytherin mentor, Barty Crouch Jr., who looked worn-out and rather cross, the same way he'd looked at the Reaping. He was scowling at Sirius.

"Ah, Hermione, Nigel," said Sirius as soon as he stepped into the elevator. "The Gryffindor tribute quarters are on the tenth floor. We're very near the courtrooms…"

"And you're right above the Death Chamber at the Department of Mysteries," added Crouch. "I noticed that all of the tributes are always above or near the Death Chamber. How appropriate! I wonder whether the Ministry intended it to be ironic."

Sirius glanced at Crouch before saying to Hermione and Nigel, "We'll start with some advice for the Games as soon as we get to our quarters if you aren't too tired from the train ride…"

"I'd recommend taking the rules into consideration when you train these few," said Crouch again. "We wouldn't want the Gamemakers to have to send the Execution Squad again to do away with tributes who don't follow the rules, eh Sirius?"

Sirius whipped around to face Crouch.

"I find it hard to believe that you still hold a grudge against me for something I was not responsible for, Barty," said Sirius, coldly.

"I'm not that gullible, Sirius," replied Crouch. "And I think that you're tributes are getting curious…"

He glanced at Hermione and Nigel who were utterly baffled by the whole conversation. The elevator stopped and a mechanical sounding voice said "Level 10, Courtrooms and Gryffindor Tribute Quarters." Sirius, Hermione, Nigel and Dawlish stepped out into the corridor.

"Here we are," said Sirius. "Hermione, Nigel, follow me. Lily's probably waiting for us."

"I hope you have a wonderful time before you die," Crouch called out to Hermione and Nigel. "Fourteen days until the blood bath! Start counting down the days!"

Nigel was staring at Crouch with a stunned, scared expression. Hermione and Sirius glared at Crouch.

"Don't get so cocky, Barty," said Sirius. "Gryffindor might have a victor this year."

"Oh, I'm not being cocky," replied Crouch. "My tributes don't have any hope of winning either."

With that the elevator doors closed, leaving Hermione with her mentor, Dawlish, and Nigel.

"Don't listen to a word Crouch says," Sirius said. "He's been like that for a while now. I suppose you could say that he has an excuse, but he can still be a real git."

"What do you mean by 'he has an excuse'?" asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

"Let's just say that during his Games," said Sirius looking disgusted. "The Gamemakers made a real effort to torment the tributes. It was a Quarter Quell. The Gamemakers always do something 'special' involving the Games every twenty five years. Even when it's not time for a Quarter Quell, the Games are never all that pleasant, but it's not like there's no hope. There's always a victor every year."

"One victor out of twenty four tributes," said Hermione. "The odds of me winning aren't extremely high."

"A tribute's chances of winning are based on skill, not probability," replied Sirius.

Sirius was right, but Hermione was not very encouraged by this in the least. Magical skill was one thing. The ability to murder was another.


	10. Chapter 9 A Failed Training Session

**Author's Note: I'm pushing Crouch Jr.'s flashback to a later chapter. This one is following Draco.**

Chapter 9 – Another Failed Training Session

Mafalda Hopkirk had been yapping about interviews and the Ministry the whole way to the Slytherin tribute quarters. Draco was quite tired of hearing her annoyingly delighted voice. Right now, Draco had nothing to do but sit in the living room of the Slytherin tribute quarters and endure her endless jabbering.

After what felt like an hour Mafalda glanced at her watch and said, "Well, Alecto said that she'd be a little late, she's meeting with someone at the training center, but Barty really should be here by now."

Draco shrugged. Crouch didn't seem like the type of person who kept to a strict schedule.

"I think we should go upstairs and see what's taking him so long," said Mafalda.

Even this little alteration in the schedule seemed to have made her very antsy. She hurried upstairs muttering about how disorganized Crouch was. Draco and Tracey followed her.

The Slytherin tribute quarters consisted of one main level, where there was a large living room and a dining room, and a slightly smaller second level, which Draco hadn't seen yet. When he arrived at the top of the short staircase, he saw that on the second level were what looked like five bedrooms.

Mafalda stopped at the first one to their right and knocked on the door. She had to knock several times again before an ill-tempered looking Crouch came to the door.

"Come inside," sighed Crouch.

Draco stepped inside what appeared to be an apartment. He was standing in what he supposed was the living room. The place was so cluttered that he couldn't really tell what purpose the room served. The furniture had been put in random places and there were various piles of junk on what was probably a desk.

"It's bigger than it looks on the outside," said Crouch. "It's more spacious than the other 'rooms' here, but that's because this is where I live."

With that, he collapsed onto a nearby couch. Mafalda looked at him disapprovingly.

"I can't believe that after all these years," she said. "You still _choose_ to live in this mess! You're a victor! Use some of your money to..."

"I don't need a mansion," said Crouch, shrugging. "That would be a real waste of space wouldn't it?"

Mafalda sighed and shook her head before saying, "Well you should have been downstairs several minutes ago."

Crouch shrugged again and said, "A few minutes won't make a world of a difference. My tributes won't to listen to me. They're going to die as soon as the Games start, just like the tributes during previous years I tried mentoring… so why waste my time?"

"It's your duty as a mentor," snapped Mafalda looking exasperated. "And you are _required_ to mentor the Slytherin tributes this year. If you don't stop this nonsense I will inform those in charge of the Games…"

"Those in charge of the Games don't have all that much power over me as far as I'm concerned," said Crouch. "If you're talking about punishment, they've already done everything that they can possibly do to hurt me. There's nothing else left that they can do."

"There is always…" started Mafalda, but Crouch cut her off.

"If you're thinking that they'll use the Cruciatus Curse," he said. "You're probably right, but it doesn't matter. They won't be allowed to cause any permanent damage. After all, I am on good terms with the Dark Lord."

Crouch rolled up the left sleeve of his robes to reveal the Dark Mark, burned onto the crook of his arm. He glanced at Draco and Tracey. Draco was feeling almost as frustrated with Crouch as Mafalda.

Yes, he had decided the moment that he had been chosen as tribute that he had no chance of winning, but he still didn't like the idea of going into the arena _completely _unprepared. Even if he wasn't going to win, he was going to try to stay alive as long as he could.

He wondered what the other mentors were doing. They were probably giving their tributes advice and support. That was what mentors were supposed to do, but Draco had been unfortunate enough to get one who wasn't even going to try to train him. There were a couple of things that he wanted to yell at Crouch, but shouting insults probably wasn't the best way to get someone to help you.

"Oh dear," said Crouch. "It looks like you're getting a little angry, Draco. I know; it isn't a very good feeling knowing that you only have a few days left to live."

"Barty!" shrieked Mafalda. "If you don't stop I swear I will go down to the Gamemakers this instant and…"

"Alright, alright," said Crouch. "I'll humor you and train them. Draco, Tracey, downstairs."

He got up lazily and headed out of the room. Mafalda muttered something about, "irresponsible mentors" before leaving the room. Tracey strutted off behind her and was followed by Draco.

Downstairs, they gathered around the dining table. There were two Avoxes there.

"First of all," said Crouch. "You're going to start training in the training center tomorrow. If you have skills, don't make them obvious. If you do, the other tributes will have a basic idea of your fighting strategies. It's a lot easier to kill your opponent when you know their fighting strategies."

"Are you saying that we're supposed to act like a bunch of fools who don't know anything about magic at the training center?" asked Tracey, narrowing her eyes.

"No," replied Crouch. "But if you want to, be my guest. Half of the tributes there act like empty-headed fools. All I'm saying is don't try to show off too much when you're around the other tributes at the training center. None of my tributes ever listen to that little bit of advice. I keep getting all of these stuck-up purebloods who always try to appear superior, and once it's time for the Games, the other tributes have observed their dueling strategies enough to figure out their weaknesses."

"What's wrong with being proud of your blood-status?" asked Tracey.

"Aren't you pureblood?" added Draco.

"I am pureblood," said Crouch. "But I'm only proud of my blood-status to a reasonable extent. I wasn't arrogant in the arena, which is how I became a victor. I know both of your families and if you're anything like your relatives, you're probably going to be too overconfident to have any chance of…"

"In case you haven't noticed," said Draco. "My father's a well-known victor!"

"So, you think that that will help you in the arena?" said Crouch. "When someone is about to cause an explosion that will blow you to pieces with a curse, your blood-status isn't going to matter. Nor is it isn't going to matter who your father is when you're about to be ripped to shreds by a mutation and if you asked me, your father is a snobbish fool."

"Well, from what I've heard, he's a much better mentor than you!" snapped Draco. "He's actually had some of his tributes win!"

Draco had just finished his last sentence when Crouch jumped out of his seat and stood there, looking slightly deranged, his wand pointed at Draco's throat. Mafalda shrieked in alarm. Tracey stared at both of them in shock and confusion.

"Don't ever mention them again!" said Crouch.

"Mention who?" asked Draco, staring nervously at Crouch's outstretched wand.

"My former tributes," said Crouch in a strained voice. "Don't ever mention them again! Is that clear?"

"Yes," said Draco.

Slowly, Crouch lowered his wand and sat back down. For a moment, there was complete silence before Crouch said quietly, "If you don't control that temper, Draco, you're not going to get many sponsors. Sponsors are very important. We'll discuss them later. For now, I think that we should continue this conversation another time."

Draco was fuming. Usually, no one insulted his family and got away with it, but in this case, he would just have to deal with Crouch. Attacking Crouch wouldn't be the best way to get him to train his tributes, which he already seemed so reluctant to do, and saying that Crouch had already threatened Draco with his wand, an attempted attack would probably result in Draco getting cursed.

Crouch stood up to leave. He stopped at the edge of the stairs.

"You know," he said. "Part of how well the mentoring process goes depends on the tributes. I won't be able to do my job as a mentor very well unless you give me a bit of a reason to have some confidence in you. Right now, neither of you are showing all that much potential. Being pureblood doesn't count as potential. Why train those who have no hope of winning? Perhaps it would be best for you to die at the Cornucopia as quickly as possible; that would be easier for all of us, wouldn't it?"

With that, he returned to his little flat upstairs, leaving Mafalda frowning at where Crouch had been seated, Tracey looking insulted, and Draco feeling a mixture of rage and trepidation regarding the looming prospect of going into the arena, clueless about what he would be facing.


	11. Chapter 10 Practice and Training

**Author's Note: I'm going to answer questions in my author's notes from now on. I am planning to keep the T rating all the way through this story. I will finish this story, although it's going to take a while. This is probably going to turn into a trilogy. I'm not sure whether I'll attach the sequels to this story or not. I'll have to check the rules.**

**And if you've left me a review recently or if you're following this story, thank you so much! I'm sorry that I haven't updated in so long. I had another writer's block. Sorry if that affected the quality of this chapter. Things will be faster once the actual Games start (unless I have a lot of schoolwork then).**

**Another thing: I am learning to speak French, so I know some phrases. Some of them might pop up in this story. I didn't write in the way that characters would pronounce words with a certain accent by changing the spelling (like the way things were done in the Goblet of Fire), so people will just have to imagine the accent.**

Chapter 10 – Practice and Training

The training center was a commodious room that was comprised of five numbered stations. All twenty four tributes were gathered there for their first training session. Hermione was at the back of the circle of teenagers, craning her neck to see the Ministry witch who was explaining the rules of the Hunger Games.

"When you first arrive in the arena, there will be a two minute countdown to the start of the Games," she said. "It is strictly against the rules to step off the platform early. Your wands will be in the Cornucopia along with a variety of things that you may find useful. All curses and other spells are allowed, with the exception of the Killing Curse. This encourages tributes to become more resourceful when trying to achieve their goals. Any violation of the rules will result in disqualification from the Games."

A couple of the other tributes looked a little disappointed at this news. Of course, Hermione knew that "disqualification from the Games" was a euphemism for execution.

"There are five stations here at the training center," continued the Ministry witch. "Station 1 is for offensive spells, Station 2 is for protective spells, Station 3 is for flying on broomsticks, Station 4 is for brewing and learning about potions, and Station 5 is for learning about magical animals and plants. Dueling other tributes at the training center is not permitted. You may now go to the station that you desire to train at first."

The circle of tributes broke apart. It immediately became clear that the most popular station was Station 1. Hermione however, decided to go to Station 5 where she found a herbology book about identifying poisonous plants from edible ones. Sirius had told her that one year, even more tributes died from eating poisonous fruit than from attacks.

Soon, someone came to sit next to her and picked up a book also. Looking up, she saw a girl in the blue Beauxbatons uniform. The girl looked to be about the same age as Hermione, perhaps a bit younger. She had pale skin, brunette hair, long eyelashes and a slender face. Hermione ignored her, focusing on her herbology book.

There was a sudden high-pitched scream. Hermione and the Beauxbatons girl looked up, startled. The scream had come from Station 1. Hermione wasn't sure whether or not it had come from a real person. When she heard a second, similar sounding scream, it became clear what was making the noise.

Station 1 was full of extraordinarily life-like manikins, which emitted eerily human-like shrieks and turned to dust when a curse that would kill an actual person hit them. Hermione saw two Durmstrang tributes looking down at two piles of black dust, looking very satisfied in a way that seemed rather sadistic.

"It is barbaric," said a voice with a heavy French accent.

Hermione turned to see the Beauxbatons girl who had joined her at Station 5. The girl looked at her. Sirius had told Hermione not to talk to the other tributes, but Hermione didn't _want_ to appear cold to all of them. Yes, she knew that there could only be one victor, but it still went against her nature to look at all of the other tributes as hated rivals.

"I agree," she said to the girl.

There was a long pause, before the Beauxbatons girl beckoned for Hermione to come closer.

"What is your blood status?" the girl asked quietly.

"Muggle-born," said Hermione without hesitation. She was not going to be one of those Muggle-born tributes who tried to hide their blood-status because of the discrimination.

"I am too," said the girl.

Hermione stared at her. She hadn't met too many other Muggle-borns who would tell you their real blood-status so openly.

"I wanted to know whether or not I was the only Muggle-born tribute here" continued the Beauxbatons girl. "All of the other tributes from my school are Half-Blood or Pure-Blood. They will have nothing to do with me."

She sighed. Hermione could tell that the girl was hoping to form an alliance. Personally, Hermione thought that alliances were a good way to win the games, just as long as you left your ally when the number of tributes decreased to about ten or so, but Sirius had spent the past 24 hours cautioning her and Nigel about avoiding any alliances. She didn't know the details of what had happened with his alliance, but judging by the way he acted, it had been quite awful.

"What's your name?" asked Hermione hesitantly.

"Eleta," replied the Beauxbatons girl. "What is yours?"

"Hermione," said Hermione.

"Enchanté," said Eleta, smiling sweetly. Hermione smiled back. She looked up to the platform where the mentors were seated and spotted Sirius. He was watching her with a sort of half-worried, half-disapproving look on his face.

"How old are you?" asked Hermione.

"I am in my fourth year at Beauxbatons," replied Eleta. "I am nearly fourteen. What year are you in?"

"I'm in my fourth year also," said Hermione. "I attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Hogwarts is the British school isn't it?" asked Eleta.

"Yes," replied Hermione.

"I believe that the only Muggle-born victor came from your school," said Eleta. "Lily Potter. I know that she is British."

Hermione nodded, and glanced up at the mentors again. Lily was next to Sirius, who looked quite a bit unhappy about Hermione's conversation with Eleta. Lily however, gave Hermione an encouraging nod.

"Is she your mentor?" asked Eleta.

"Well, Sirius Black is my mentor," Hermione replied. "Lily Potter is Sirius's assistant this year."

"Ah," said Eleta. "Sirius Black comes from a long line of Purebloods doesn't he?"

"Yes," said Hermione. Eleta frowned. Hermione knew exactly what she was thinking.

"But Sirius doesn't discriminate," Hermione added quickly.

Eleta looked a little doubtful, but she nodded.

"My mentor is a pureblood," she muttered. "She is not too pleased about having a Muggle-born tribute. The rest of the tributes from my school are the same way. They will not speak to me."

"That's awful," said Hermione. "I don't see why –"

She was interrupted by a loud clang and a shriek from station one. She looked up to see a group of tributes, congratulating each a boy who had blown a manikin to pieces… a manikin that represented a fellow tribute...

"Careers," said Eleta in a disgusted tone.

"What?" said Hermione.

"Careers are pureblood tributes who have been training for the Games for many years," explained Eleta. "They are quite skilled at fighting. They volunteer once they are in their fifth year or older. Many careers come from Durmstrang, but they come from Beauxbatons too. They usually form an alliance after the fight at the Cornucopia. That is probably what they are doing right now."

Hermione nodded and watched the group of Durmstrang tributes gather together. They glanced over at Hermione and Eleta, sniggering. Even from afar she could hear the word, "Mudblood." She narrowed her eyes. She could feel the hot anger quickly rising within her.

"Careers are always very proud," said Eleta. "They look down on people of 'inferior' blood status. They think that we are weak."

"Well," said Hermione bitterly. "I think it's time that they learned the truth."

She stood up and marched over to Station 1, her wand clutched tightly in her right hand. The laughter of the Durmstrang careers increased as she got closer. She ignored it and walked past them, into the center of Station 1, where the manikins were.

Without hesitation, she aimed her wand at one. She blocked out the mocking of the careers and concentrated on her spell. Closing her eyes, she yelled, "Sectumsempra!"

There was another, agonized scream and the manikin disintegrated into black dust. The Training Center became silent. Hermione looked from the careers, who had stopped jeering and were staring at her in surprise, to Eleta who was smiling and then, to the black pile of dust.

So that was what she'd be doing in a few days. The only difference was that she wouldn't be destroying manikins, she would be slaughtering people. Was that what it was like to kill? So simple? So quick?

The other tributes had started to resume their own training. Hermione headed back to Eleta.

"That was amazing," said Eleta. "Everyone was very stunned."

"Thank you," replied Hermione. "I just couldn't stand it. I've stayed quiet for all these years. If I'm going to die, I want to show them…"

Her voice trailed off. She realized that one person was still watching her from the corner of Station 3. It was the Slytherin male tribute, Draco Malfoy. His face was impossible for her to read, but she knew that he was staring at her. She glared at him, and he turned away.

"What is it?" asked Eleta, sounding concerned.

"Nothing," said Hermione. "Just another stuck-up pureblood staring at me."

She wasn't exactly sure how accurate that statement was. True, she hadn't really gotten to know Draco, and he hadn't seemed too keen on being picked as a tribute, which was quite different from the way a snobbish pureblood would react, but she suppressed those thoughts. Now wasn't the time to make friends with a pureblood tribute from Gryffindor's rival house.

"He's an enemy," she thought. "They're all enemies."

That was the best attitude to have in the Games, wasn't it? Everyone was a foe. Only one tribute could win, right?

But Hermione did not want to have that attitude.


End file.
